


You’re All I Wanna Do (I Only Wanna Dance With You)

by getalittleclosey



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (does that even need to be a tag?), 5 Times, Alternate Universe, Drinking, Famous Louis, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Regular Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getalittleclosey/pseuds/getalittleclosey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Louis walks towards him and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re really quite terrible at dancing, babe.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>or</p><p>Five times Louis and Harry dance alone and one time they dance together</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re All I Wanna Do (I Only Wanna Dance With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say thank you so much to my friend Soila for reading this over for me!! (ps both of us are american so the brit-picking may not be the bestest.) Anyway I hope you like it!!! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: This is all fake and the title is from Only Wanna Dance With You by Ke$ha, which this fic is completely inspired by/slightly based off of :)

  
_Whatever I got to do_  
 _I want you to myself tonight,_  
 _All right_  
 _I only wanna dance with you_

01.

Louis has just gotten back from his concert that night and has been wandering around his hotel room, bored as usual. He really loves what he does, really loves being on stage and singing and dancing, but a sometimes he gets into a mood where wishes he wasn’t a solo artist because he tends to miss people. Louis loves singing, but he really loves people. He thrives on being surrounded by others, making them laugh and smile, being able to hug and push and mess around with them. And sure, he has his bodyguards and handlers but they are all over thirty and _boring_ and that’s really not the same thing now is it.

He heaves a sigh before deciding that a walk would be a good idea. Actually, a walk would be a great idea, Louis loves this idea. Fresh air, excellent. Louis mentally pats himself on the back for his brilliance. It’s two in the morning so there’s not much chance of being spotted or recognised so he is off, pulling on jeans and and jacket with a beanie to protect from the bite of New York cold. It’s not hard to sneak past security and find the back door of the hotel- he’s had lots of practise with it. Hotels, restaurants, shops, they’re all the same.

He pulls his coat tighter around him as he walks outside, the blast of cold air hitting him hard. Walking along there’s not much open and Louis lets himself get lost in his thoughts and just lets it all go for a bit- all the pressures, all the scheduling, all the people he has to call (including his mum and sisters who he hasn’t had time to call and have a proper conversation with in weeks. He misses them more than anything.).

He walks past drunk teenagers tripping along the sidewalks and countless homeless people huddled together for warmth. He wishes for a second that he could be the drunk teenager again, surrounded by friends and carefree. But the he thinks for a tick and realises that if he were one of them, he and his family probably would have ended up as the homeless people huddled together in an alley. He silently thanks God or the universe or whatever it is that got him to be this lucky, for getting him where he is.

Before he knows it he’s stopped in front of a 7-Eleven with a flickering open sign and another sign below it offering hot chocolate so he figures why not because it’s fucking freezing outside. He makes his way to the back and finds the hot chocolate and pushes a styrofoam cup under the spout that pours the drink into his cup. Turns out it’s more like lukewarm chocolate but he really can’t complain because at least it’s warmer than his hands.

He curls his hands around the cup and just stands there for a minute to warm his hands. The only sound is the humming of the slurpee machine and it’s nice. Quiet is good sometimes. Matt reminds him of this fact frequently.

He walks up to the front counter and spots a curly haired worker with his back turned and headphones in, dancing (if what this kid was doing could be called that) along to whatever music was playing on his iPod. Louis watches for a minute, not sure how to get his attention without embarrassing the boy, when a sharp laugh accidentally escapes his lips and the boy turns around. His cheeks have gone pink and he’s hurriedly yanking the headphones out of his ears. He pushes his curls to the side and and squeaks out a “hi, how can I help you?”

Louis laughs a bit again (the boy is cute with the blush on his cheeks, he can’t help it) and says “yeah, just need to buy this hot chocolate.” He holds up his drink and the boy nods and takes Louis’ cash and doesn’t look up once. Louis walks out the door and turns to say something (bye, thanks, your dancing is cute; he’s really not sure) and the boy is looking right at him. Louis smiles and the boy ducks his head and the door shuts with a jingle of the bells tied to the top and Louis is back out in the cold of New York City.

 

02.

Louis is at a club a night later; the music is pounding and alcohol is coursing through his veins. Arms above his head, eyes closed, he lets the music take over his mind and blank everything else out. There’s a girl dancing on him and it’s not really what he _wants_ but he’s not going to be rude and shove her away, either. He’s just not that person. The song playing blends seamlessly into a new one, like it never even ended, and Louis blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the flashing lights of the club. He leans down to the girl to speak in her ear and mutter a quick “going back to the bar love, it was a good dance.”

Louis makes his way over to the bar and orders another drink and turns around on his stool and sees curly hair bobbing up and down off-beat to the music and the boy turns around and what do you know it’s 7-Eleven boy. What were the chances they would be at the same club out of all the endless clubs in New York on the same night. Louis’ drunken mind decides this must be fate. 7-Eleven boy seems to be alone and yet he doesn’t look like he minds at all if the huge grin on his face is anything to go by. Louis decides no one that pretty should be dancing alone and starts to walk over to him, but as he gets nearer to the spot where Louis is pretty sure 7-Eleven boy was dancing just a moment before, a head full of curls seems to be mysteriously missing. He looks around the club and goes up on his tiptoes to get a better view, but nope. 7-Eleven boy is nowhere to be found.

An hour later Louis is plastered and he calls his car to pick him up. He walks outside and shivers in his thin t-shirt. As he climbs into the back of the car, he’s sure he spots long legs and curly hair leaning against the wall outside the club, dark eyes connecting with his for just a moment. Louis blinks and the boy is gone. By morning, Louis is sure it was just a drunken hallucination.

 

03.

Louis is harshly shaken awake in the morning and he grumbles and turns his face back into his pillow, eyes shut tight against the day. He wants to go back to his dream in which he had an endless supply of giant slurpees. Definitely better than getting up right now.

“Come on Louis you’re already going to be late, I let you sleep an extra half hour before coming in here, so get up.” And yep sure enough it’s his tour manager. He groans and flips him two fingers. He really doesn’t mind Matt, he just much prefers sleep. His lovely, lovely comforter is abruptly ripped off of him and he’s surrounded by cold and just _no_. But Matt is nothing if not persistent and Louis knows he won’t leave until Louis gets up, so Louis stretches and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Look, up. You happy now?” he says very unenthusiastically and glares at Matt.

“Yes, very,” Matt responds with no trace of sarcasm. Louis’ glare seems to have not had an effect on him, he’ll have to work on that. “You know you were talking in your sleep again?” Matt laughs. Louis sighs. He does tend to spout shit in his sleep sometimes. “Yep, you were going on about green curls and dancing slurpees.”

And like. Fuck.

x

Louis loves performing. It’s his favourite thing about being a singer. He likes it more than recording and interviews, signings and photo-shoots, writing and rehearsals. There’s just something about the lights shining down on him, blocking his view of the world and he can just _feel_. He can hear the crowd in the background, dulled to a roar where he’s unable to pick out individual sounds but instead all the noise blends into one and it’s just him on the stage. All his problems and worries and thoughts about what to get the girls and his mum for Christmas disappear for just this moment.

His eyes squeeze shut and his hand goes over his stomach as his muscles tighten and he puts all his energy into hitting each note. He’s putting on a one-man show, singing loud and smiling hard and nailing every dance move as he pushes through the chorus. _Left foot, right arm, spin, jump_. He doesn’t even need to think about it anymore, he knows these moves, he owns this stage, it’s all eyes on him and the crowd loves it. They love _him_.

Sometimes he’s still amazed at how every show these people pay money to come here, to see him, just watch him do something he would happily do for free.

 

04.

Louis is pacing outside of the 7-Eleven.

It’s cold and his sweat from the concert has dried on him and he keeps running his hand through his hair, effectively ruining his quiff from the show.

He didn’t exactly plan on coming here, but he was hungry and he didn’t want hotel food again and the 7-Eleven just so happened to be on the way back to the hotel. Really.

It doesn’t matter, point is, he’s here now. Except he’s not inside. He’s half sure that he never actually saw the curly haired boy at the club; he really probably just imagined he was there, or there was somebody there who looked like him. And it’s like. What if he goes inside and tries to chat him up and the boy doesn’t even remember him and- and. Well. Louis Tomlinson is not going to be made a fool of. Louis is also not going to pace outside anymore. He is going to walk right inside that 7-Eleven and flirt with a pretty boy and it will work, just like every other time Louis has tried to pull.

Like, fuck it. This is his last night in New York and he wants to spend it with a boy he has seen twice and spoken to once. That’s normal, right? Maybe. So he _is_ going inside.

In a minute.

Louis sits himself down on the kerb of the sidewalk outside the 7-Eleven to breathe and build up his confidence some more and walk in there. He just performed in front of thousands of people, he can do this. This is easy, Louis is good at this. Just as Louis is finally about to stand up and walk in, someone walks out and sits down next to him.

“You alright there?” a quite gangly, curly-haired someone asks him. Louis allows himself a moment of internal panic and then turns to the boy with a bright smile.

“Yes, fine thank you err-” Louis pauses and looks for a name tag, but 7-Eleven boy does not seem to be wearing one. Isn’t that like, probably against code or something?

“Harry, sorry, a name tag hasn’t been made for me yet and I refuse to wear Caleb’s. He was this really huge sweaty man who used to work here and he always, like, stared at me weird but never said anything, so.” Harry seems to notice he’s rambling a bit and cuts himself off before getting back on track, “But anyway, are you sure about that? Because it’s just, like, you’ve been pacing out here for a good ten minutes.” Louis decidedly does not blush.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Just couldn’t decide if I wanted crisps or sweets.” Louis flashes another grin. “I’m Louis.”

Harry laughs, “Yeah, I know, you’re the famous one. I do work at a 7-Eleven, we sell magazines here and your face happens to be on quite a few.”

“Right, yeah, I forget sometimes that people know me before I introduce myself. It was a really weird feeling the first time it happened, I thought they were a proper stalker or something,” Louis laughs and Harry joins. Louis stares as a dimple pops up. There’s a moment of silence before Louis internally shakes his head and starts to stand up. “So, Harry, umm, it was nice to meet you and all but I’m going to buy my crisps and such.” But Harry’s pulling on his arm for him to sit down again and opening his mouth to speak.

“You have anything to do tonight Louis?” he’s asking and Louis hopes this means he’s going to get a chance to kiss this boy, this Harry. His lips are too pretty not to kiss. He shakes his head no. “Well, I still have two hours left of my shift and practically no one comes to this 7-Eleven this late, except pop-stars, apparently, and umm, you could keep me company?”

Louis is nodding his head before he thinks about it because Harry’s got this crease between his forehead like he’s worried Louis is going to say no and his words shook a little when he asked and he’s just. He’s just really very cute and Louis dreamt about him and that has to mean something, right? (Fate, he’s sure now. Dimples equal fate, simple math.)

“Great, excellent, right,” Harry breathes out, “I’ll be right back.” Harry pushes himself off the kerb and walks back into the 7-Eleven, bells ringing merrily in the night, and returns back a minute later with a bottle of cheap red wine clutched in his hand.

x

An hour and a half and the bottle of wine split between them later, Harry is sat on the curb giggling madly as Louis shows off his “pop-star dance moves” (Harry’s words, not his). He has segued from Beyonce’s Single Ladies dance into his, self-proclaimed, fantastic Bye, Bye, Bye N’Sync moves and Harry can hardly breathe for laughter. Louis decides he should probably stop for Harry’s health and he flicks his fringe to the side and grins wide at Harry. His curls are flopping over his eyes and he’s breathing heavily as his laughter comes to an end and Louis’ smile is splitting his cheeks, he’s pretty sure. He’s about to ask Harry if he has cracks in his cheeks when he trips over nothing and suddenly he’s in Harry’s lap and Harry’s face is very, very close.

Louis brings his hand up to fit over one of Harry’s cheeks. It burns under his hand from the combined heat of the wine and Harry’s laughter. His heart is beating hummingbird fast, and it’s not just from the dancing. His gaze slips from the intensity of Harry’s green green eyes to the softness of his red red red wine stained lips and he leans forward. And then his lips are on Harry’s, pillow soft against his slightly chapped ones, just pressure. Louis sucks on Harry’s bottom one and pushes closer to him, biting lightly and stroking his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone once before pushing it back to tangle in his curls. His other hand grips Harry’s shoulder, fingernails digging into the material of his work shirt. One of Harry’s hands is still pressed into the sidewalk to keep them both from falling onto the ground and the other is rested on Louis’ thigh, thumb rubbing circles into his jeans and making him shiver as he slowly inches it higher up.

Then Harry’s tongue is licking it’s way into his mouth and Louis opens his mouth, happy with where this is going, but suddenly it’s like this isn’t enough for Louis. Both his hands are in Harry’s hair now, pulling him close, but he wants him to be _closer_. He swings his right leg over Harry’s lap so that he’s straddling him and he grinds down once and Harry groans. Louis takes a moment to be pleased with himself before Harry does this thing with tongue while reaching back with one hand to work it’s way underneath the back of Louis’ shirt, effectively cutting off all his thoughts. Harry’s hand is cold against Louis’ overheated skin and it makes him shiver. Harry laughs into his mouth and then his other hand is reaching to grab at Louis’ arse.

And this would be good, really good, if it didn’t cause them to go toppling back onto the sidewalk in a pile of tangled limbs and laughter. They separate and lay on their backs for a moment, looking at the starless New York City night sky and just breathing before Louis sneaks his hand over to Harry’s crotch and presses down. Harry groans and stares at Louis with bright bright eyes.

“I’m closing up a little early, hope you’ve got your own hotel room pop-star.”

They take Louis’ car back to the hotel and the short ride is filled with tension and heavy glances. He’s focused on the amount of space in-between them (too much). Louis really wants to touch Harry.

Then Louis’ leading them both in through the back, looking around quickly for any lingering fans, walking as fast as he can to the elevator, Harry close behind. The doors shut behind them and Louis glances up for cameras before pressing Harry back into the mirrored wall of the elevator. This time, both Harry’s hands really are squeezing his arse and Louis’ tongue in pushing deep into Harry’s mouth, all technique gone and Louis just wants to be as close as possible to this boy. Louis’ hands are holding tight to Harry’s shoulders and he’s going up on his toes as Harry leans down, Louis arching backwards and Harry keeping him from falling with a hand pressing into the small of his back and the other slipped into his back jeans pocket. The elevator dings and the doors are opening and they pull apart. Louis can’t stop looking at Harry and his room isn’t close enough, why can’t his room be closer, why can’t Harry be closer. (Closer, closer, closer.)

Louis fumbles three times with the key card, distracted by Harry’s hands on his waist, fingertips pushing under his shirt and his mouth on Louis’ neck. “Harry, wait- wait until we’re inside,” Louis stutters out. (And why, _why_ aren’t they inside yet.) But then they are inside and Louis’ back is pressed against the slammed shut door and Harry’s hands are gripping his waist tight and his mouth is moving from Louis’ jaw back down to his neck slowly down to his collarbones. Biting, sucking, licking the flat of his tongue over to sooth the pain, repeat. Louis may die.

Actually, Matt might kill him for the marks that are sure to be left there. Louis decides he doesn’t mind and Matt can just fuck off right now because this feels really, really good.

Louis wants. Louis wants so much. He wants his clothes off, he wants Harry’s horribly garish and scratchy uniform clothes off, he wants to be on the king sized hotel bed, he wants Harry’s dick in his mouth, he wants Harry to never stop what he’s doing right now.

Louis pushes at Harry’s shoulders in an attempt to get him to detach from Louis’ collarbone so that he can get their clothes off and get them in bed. Harry bites extra hard in retaliation and Louis whimpers, muttering out a, “fucking Christ, clothes, off, bed.” Harry apparently gets his meaning because he’s yanking Louis over to the bed by his belt loops while also pulling his own uniform shirt and long-sleeved undershirt off and. And Harry’s got _tattoos_ under those long sleeves. Definitely more than Louis has. They’re all up and down his left arm and across his chest and is that really a butterfly on his stomach? The effect is like a giant sketchpad. A really, really fit sketchpad. But then Louis’ pushing Harry backwards on the bed and yanking his shirt off before crawling on top of Harry and Harry’s staring, staring, staring, and then their tongues and lips and teeth are clashing together and it’s all skin on skin and nothing else matters that night.

05.

Louis wakes up slowly to light coming through the curtains and an empty bed and this confuses him for a moment because he’s sure he fell asleep wrapped in the arms of a warm, naked body with curls tickling his neck. But then he hears music playing from the other half of his suite and he pushes himself out of bed, stretching and yawning before pulling on a pair of boxer briefs. He’s pretty sure they aren’t his. Louis walks into the tiny kitchenette and Harry’s cooking eggs in a pan and shaking his naked bum along to the radio. Louis has a boy in his hotel kitchenette, cooking him breakfast, naked. This is brilliant. (Fate). And, like, where did he even get eggs.

Harry pulls a more ridiculous move involving the spatula spinning in the air before it falls to the floor and Louis can’t stifle his giggles anymore (yes giggles, he’s allowed to giggle. Real men giggle and all that. (Louis may be mixing his sayings)). At the noise, Harry’s head shoots up from where he’s staring forlornly down at the spatula and he flushes red. He looks really very pretty flushed red. Louis makes it a personal goal to embarrass him as often as possible if he continues looking like that. Louis walks towards him and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry is still here and he’s cooking breakfast, which means Louis is allowed to cuddle. “You’re really quite terrible at dancing, babe.”

Harry whips around at him to glare. Harry can’t glare well at all and Louis’ giggles turn into full blown laughter at the sight.

“It’s okay Harry, we can’t all be as great at dancing as I am. You have other useful skills, like cooking eggs, apparently, and looking terribly good naked, and suck-”

“Right, well,” Harry interrupts loudly. He has turned red again and Louis is very pleased with himself, “let’s eat.”

“Wait, I have to teach you how to dance first!” Louis loves dancing, Louis wants to dance with Harry. This is possibly Louis’ best idea since last night.

“No, you’re just going to laugh at me.” Harry is probably right.

“I promise, I won’t! I’ll hold it in, really,” Harry still looks hesitant and really that is just not acceptable. Louis reaches to tangle Harry’s hands with his and looks up at him with wide eyes.

Harry sighs, “fine.” And Louis is bouncing and smiling up at him, he knew he would get his way, _ha_.

 

+1

Harry turns the dial on the stove to off and Louis places Harry’s arms around his neck and his own hands on Harry’s waist (his lovely pale skinny _naked_ waist). He frowns at Harry trying to awkwardly spread his legs out to make the height work. This is no good. Since when is he too short to lead? He may have to rethink this whole Harry thing. Harry chuckles and switches their arm positions and Louis frowns harder, mostly because it feels much better. They sway back and forth to an upbeat pop song. It’s all completely wrong and backwards also very right.

“Why are you so tall? Stop being taller than me. This is not allowed Harry.” Louis throws him his best glare.

“Shh, you like it.” Louis really does need to work on his glare, apparently. Also, Harry is wrong. Louis hates it a lot. He shakes his head no in defiance and nuzzles closer into Harry’s chest right after. He is maybe not proving his point very well. But Harry is really warm and extremely naked and his arms cage Louis in completely and they are slow dancing to what might be a Ke$ha dubstep remix.

Louis breathes out a contented sigh, giving up on the leading thing for now, and Harry holds him tighter and hums quietly in Louis’ ear along to the song. Louis thinks he would be quite happy to dance with this giant of a 7-Eleven clerk with the green green eyes for much longer than just this morning. (His drunk mind was maybe right, this is maybe fate.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading!!! Find me on tumblr at getalittleclosey :)


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